The End of the Game
by LaSuen
Summary: Kira's caught and executed. What does L do now? One-shot.


**Title**: The End of the Game

**Author**: Gally

**Translator**: LaSuen

**Beta**: darksaphire

**Disclamer**: I don't own anything.

**Summary**: Kira's caught and executed. What does L do now?

**A/N**: This is dedicated to my good friend Merrylex, it was specially translated for her birthday. I hope you'll enjoy this story.

V V V

The street lights strewn all over the city make the evening sky brighter than it really is. Switched on in every house, café and bar, television screens broadcast the same channel, parroting each other's translations.

"Where's Kira gone to?" ask anchors in perplexity.

Confusion. Then again, assuredness. Some people painstakingly persevere in their belief, others are panic-stricken, and still others get out of their foul dens to victimize new targets. The crime rate is increased, but this is only normal. This is the order, the way it used to be The world is back in its groove. Messiah Kira is dead.

L does not care about the world. Rife with unsettling thoughts, he muses on his victory. Some time ago he went to the cemetery to look at the fruit of his labour. Standing there, by the place of his adversary's eternal rest, he was full of vague reflections.

Light Yagami.

The case was closed.

V V V

"Ryuzaki, did you refuse to take a case again?"

"Yes." The room that is lit only by a faint glimmer of the PC screen cuddles a shadow of a man.

"Why?"

"Wasn't interesting."

"It's time to go back to work, you know."

"Yes, I do." Getting up from the floor, the best detective in the world relocates himself into the murky depth of the room where darkness alone can keep him company. He disregards the worried voice from the microphone.

V V V

The dirty autumn is covered by a snowy layer, a white quilt embroiders the grey surface in silver. Meanwhile, Christmas in the house of Wammy is marked by the choice of a new L heir. It's Niar, who for some bizarre reason becomes the heir, and even Roger doesn't know why.

Niar is disappointed when, afterwards, L hasn't spoken a word to him. What is going on? The detective was in full-on inaction before he passed the reins of government to Niar and disappeared for good. Has he really had enough? This question Niar addresses to Watari, who now is his new assistant.

"L has decided that it's time to leave and he's chosen you without hesitation."

Watari's old face is amiable and yet impassive.

V V V

The L's apartment is in fact empty, naked walls being its sole inhabitants. The computer is always on in one of the rooms, its glimmer is barely noticeable in the windows of the skyscraper. Sometimes you can discern an uneven shadow of a person. Seeing as neighbours don't see him often outside, they don't know a thing about him.

V V V

This pub was a place I liked dropping in at sometimes after work. With few people inside, it was a nice nook for an elderly woman like me who prefered to spend time in peace and quiet. Recently I happened to get to know an extraordinary person. I sat by the counter and ordered a glass of saké, as is always the case. The TV broadcasted a programme about Kira. It has been nearly a year since he disappeared. Oh, it caused some tongues to wag alright. Kira, Kira… I was so far from all of that.

Soon I heard someone give a stifled laugh. Turning around, I noticed a young man sitting in the corner at a table. He climbed on the soft seat with his legs; his hair disheveled and unkempt, his fingers very thin and his frame scrawny as a rake. He seemed so eccentric a human being.

"Kira makes you laugh?" I asked him.

The young man froze for a moment as though he didn't expect to be heard. Then he tilted his head to one side, placing his hands on the knees.

"Doesn't. He laughs."

The man's voice was slightly raucous, as if he had been silent for a long while and hadn't talked to anybody in years.

"At you?"

He shook his head indefinitely. I asked permission to take a seat next to him. He nodded. Then I could have a good look at him. He was older than I thought he'd be and his eyes were black. People aren't born with such eye colour. What was his life like, that the colour of his soul leaked out into his eyes? I would never be able to find out.

A bunch of sweet alcohol drinks were stationed on his tabletop. A cup of coffee stood in seclusion; a heap of cream bags scattered around the table completed the dismal picture. The man made an awkward movement with his hand in order to bus a part of the table, and here it became obvious that he'd already had one to many.

"Don't make a fuss," I said. "It's okay."

He returned to his previous sitting pose and scrutinized me for a minute. Then we both returned to watching the TV programme. Intuition told me that the young man was unsociable and that he longed for real company, rather than idle chit-chat. And yet, the longer this Kira chronicle went on, the more he displayed some ulterior and even childish agitation. His black eyes sparkled like embers.

"This Kira was a funny youth," I said in a dismissive tone.

"Youth?" He pronounced it in a drawl, as if cautiously examining every sound. "I see."

"Exactly. And quite an irresponsible one."

"What makes you think so?" The black eyes looked at me.

"I raised three sons."

"I see…" Absent-mindedly he stared at the checkered floor. "Yes, he was just like that."

"Oh, how funny. Did you really know Kira?"

"I think I did."

This pensiveness made him torpid. His bare feet, old crumpled jeans and paper-thin jacket didn't tally with such chilling weather. And those big, serious eyes. All of a sudden, he presented himself in a completely different light – as a personality that was internally active and profound, and who had an inquisitive mind. What was he searching for?

"What am I like?" he asked out of nowhere, his eyes studied my face and took the words right out of my mouth.

"Maybe you both have something in common…" this was a mere guess. If he was acquainted with Kira, why not?

He reached for the nearest bottle and poured himself a drink, spilling a bit on the table. Getting hold of the glass with two fingers, he lifted it to eye level with meticulous care and gave it a circumspective look, crucially probing it as if it were evidence from a crime. Only after his scrutiny did he drink it with utmost prudence. It seemed that he and alcohol didn't bode well together. At all. It was like a child playing with a car wheel.

"I see. You're right, Mrs…"

"Kavaguchi-san."

"… I hate to lose. And I don't like squandering time either. But we have to cope with things. Live further."

"Quite so."

"Live," he repeated as he turned to the tv screen again. At that moment an old tape was played, in which a mountain of curses were sent in detective L's direction because he had caught Kira.

"_L is true evil! He is against the real order!"_

"L must have been very disappointed," I said.

"I didn't give a damn about that!"

_Oh__, that is interesting._ I was astounded, but didn't say anything out loud. Instead, wanting to unveil the secret at least a bit, I asked:

"How did you find this pub?"

"I had nothing to do."

"So, you're free now?"

"I'm always free, Mrs. Kavaguchi."

I nodded to him sympathetically. The young man began to blink strangely, the drinks had gotten to his head, it seemed. For some time he gazed at me in suspicion, trying to read my mind. Reassured in my sincerity, he continued to talk, gesticulating without spirit.

"I had a hobby. Others called it work, a profession – whatever, but for me it was a hobby. I played by my own rules and hated to lose. It was just what I wanted. Just like that." He rubbed his temple absent-mindedly. "Once, a real game began. And the adversary was the best one I had ever had. For victory's sake I showed my worth and my intellect. I did things that, earlier, I hadn't believed I could do… But this game," he jerked up his tousled head, "I could play only one time."

The young man made a pause. He budged his knees closer and lowered his head on them. I continued to wait, afraid of breaking this fragile confidence with a wrong word.

"But now it's all in the past. I understood that I was just wasting time. No game could ever match that one. I've chosen an heir and left. I've been giving him advice for a while… I tried to get interested in science, but it was soon boring as well. I don't want anything now."

"My dear, they taught you to do your job, but to just live is even harder. And to drink, too."

"I'm degradation itself," he readily agreed.

"Don't lose courage. Sooner or later it'll be alright. I see that you're quite a bright young man." It was painful to tell him all of that, because right in this moment, when he acknowledged his spiritual wounds, his face became dark again, and he fell into apathy, worse than it had been minutes before.

"_On this anniversary the Kira cult gathered in the mountains again in order to sing his praises. Hundreds of lights are visible from helicopters. This is the flame of their hopes."_

"Nobody comes back after death," muttered my companion to himself. "But he comes back in my thoughts, more and more frequently… or are those dreams? I can't sleep normally… it's been so long…"

Maybe it was L himself in front of me, but then this question was already out the window. You know, even if he were Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes, it wouldn't make any difference. I wanted to console him, but he wasn't responding. He was always the same, sitting like an animal at bay, immersed in his memories. Yes, I'm sure that he went wool-gathering in his past where he replayed his favourite game over and over again as his black eyes glittered with cheerless nostalgia.

The programme about Kira was likely to take another two hours. A special release. I had to leave this L alone with himself, sad and despondent.

V V V

The trill of the telephone won't stop. At 5 a.m. a black limousine is going towards the skyscraper that is situated not far from the best confectioner's shop in Tokyo.

Watari pushes the handle to the apartment and finds the door unlocked. The apartment is dark and empty. The computer is off. The telephone is left in the kitchen. With sharp strides Watari leaves the building and makes back for his car. Only one solution left: drive about the district, then drop by at the apartment again. If something happened… He should've foreseen that.

The outlines of a familiar figure are noticeable even at a distance. He parks his car and runs into the tiny bystreet. On the muddy road, curled up beside the wall…

"Ryuzaki!"

His hair is soaked, black circles set under his eyes. His dirty clothes stink of alcohol. Shocked, Watari looks at his best student and feels like a bastard. He takes Ryuzaki in his hands, carries him to the car and covers the youth with his coat. The gloomy streets fly by through the side windows as the car starts moving.

Niar shouldn't see L like this, thinks Watari, and chooses the apartment.

Ryuzaki sleeps on the couch under a warm plaid blanket. Watari sits at his side for a while, not daring to stir the boy. He doesn't stop reproaching himself, although he can't quite define how he was at fault. He just knew that he was. The electronic wall clock shows half past seven.

When he stands up to go for some coffee in the kitchen, a feeble, hardly audible voice reaches his ears:

"Five percent… Light-kun…"

Today is the anniversary of Light Yagami's death. Watari turns around. For a moment he fancies that he sees Ryuzaki being fettered by an eternal sleep, and there is Kira above him, laughing.


End file.
